


Bones of the Black Keep

by cyevi



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Dark Fantasy, F/M, I got yer banter right here, Necromancy, Skeletons, Slow Burn, adventure story, endless world building, halloweenie, multiple fantasy inspiration sources
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyevi/pseuds/cyevi
Summary: Vegeta has put himself through training hell for the past decade to be the best in hopes of joining the Eight Armies, but fate is rarely so generous in the land of the Ebon Vale. A dark fantasy adventure with inspiration from Dark Souls, The Locked Tomb Trilogy, Skyrim, the metal band 'Ghost', and many more. Created as a part of the 2020 Halloweenie prompt challenge hosted by Shenron's Dungeon Community.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24
Collections: Halloweenie 2020





	1. Cover and Notes

**Author's Note:**

> The following chapter is for reference and may be updated as the story is posted. You are free to skip this chapter if you wish to avoid even a hint of spoilers, but no major plot points are revealed on this page.

**The World of the Ebon Vale**

* * *

**Governance**

The Royal House  
The Empress, Sacred Lady of Shade, Guardian of the Ebon Vale: A powerful necromancer  
Resides at the Holy Transept

The Gold House  
Home of the Adjudicators of the Tower of Laws  
Necromancy: Mortal Binding

The Amber House  
Home of the Scholars of the Amber Caves of the Dying Flame  
Necromancy: Thought and Memory Transference

The Red House  
Home of the Generals of the Eight Armies  
Necromancy: Bound Weaponry

The Gray House  
Home of the Twilight Medics  
Necromancy: Revenancy and Reanimation of Flesh  
Slang: Deathwalkers

The Blue House  
Home of the Templars of the Styxian Shores  
Necromancy: Soul Siphoning

The Green House  
Home of the Messengers of the Endless Vales  
Necromancy: Dreamguides

The Ossein House  
Home of the Bone Clerks, Shepherds of the Skeletal Hoards  
Necromancy: Reanimation and Construction of Bones  
Slang: Bone Crones, Gravediggers

–

**Hierarchy and Honorifics**

**The Empress** – Her Majesty, Sacred Lady, Lady of Shade  
**House Necromancers** – Lord or Lady  
**Generals of the Eight Armies** – By Rank  
**House Heirs** – with House affiliation  
**Warrior Caste** – By Rank  
**House Attendants** – Name only  
(May also be referred to with job title, ie. “steward” or “housecarl”. Includes the Unsullied, those in direct service of the Royal House and Empress)  
**Civilian Caste** (Those unaffiliated with a specific House) – Name only


	2. The Seven Houses of the Ebon Vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta and his cohorts have arrived at the Holy Transept for the Rite of Selection. Each hopes to join one of the seven powerful Houses of the land. Seeing himself as the best recruit of this year's selection, Vegeta has high hopes of joining the Eight Armies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An absolutely amazing thank you to Blackswans22 for her beta help on this story!   
> Halloweenie prompt: Masquerade

The four men stood to the side of the massive path, each wondering what direction their evening held.

They had dressed according to their orders. Black suit, tailored to their bodies, black vest atop a black shirt, buttoned prim and topped with a stiff collar with rounded points. At their feet, instead of the usual combat boots, they had on formal black brogues, polished to a high shine. And at their waist, their personal rapier of choice. A blinded ghoul waited for the group to don black gloves, to cover their hands before handing them each a mask which would cover their entire face and hide their eyes. Cast in gray bronze, each forehead was topped by two short, smooth horns. The first night of the yearly Rite of Selection brooked no tolerance for initiates breaking rules.

“The recruit shall not speak to the Seven Houses of the Ebon Vale unless spoken to.” The construct, a gray corpse reanimated carefully by a Twilight Medic, stood with a rigid posture. Its eyes were covered with gray loops of bandages to hide the fact that its eyeballs were missing. Its jaw wobbled a muddy language from its core beneath its robes, a strange kind of wet echo instead of true speech. “The recruit shall not show his face until the fourteen days of rites have ended. The recruit shall not draw his blade for any reason. The recruit shall be subject to the trials of the Houses The recruit who enters on this night the Holy Transept of our Empress, the Sacred Lady of Shade, Guardian of the Ebon Vale, shall abide this oath to be selected as an initiate or be cast back to the Bright Wall, exiled from our realm. Swear now to our realm and Lady, or leave this place forever.”

“I do so swear on the Lapis Rivers of Parath, on the Dusk Embers of the Idyllwoods, on the Amber Caves of the Dying Flame, on the Hollow Graves of Ucedir, and to our Sacred Lady, Empress of Shade, Guardian of the Ebon Vale, lest the flames of betrayal take my flesh.” The shortest member of the group, hair with its own black flame, took the lead and recited the oath first, then bowed at the waist to the ghoul, and slipped the mask over his face.

His three companions, each with wild hair of their own, then followed suit. The ghoul returned the bow and stepped to the side, allowing the potential initiates access to the walkway. With the shortest member at the lead, they followed the crowds into the massive stronghold of the kingdom. In front, and behind, men and women dressed lavishly in various house colors, each revealing their bound allegiance to the Seven Houses of the Empress of Shade.

Most numerous were those in red uniforms to represent the Eight Armies. Smaller clusters of patrons walked the path up as well. Adjudicators of the Tower of Law wore gold robes with simple diadems across their brows. The Horsemen of Idyllwoods, the Messengers of the Endless Vales, had worn green ceremonial long suits, tails reaching to their knees with high black boots. A trio of Scholars of the Amber Caves clustered near the entrance in heavy robes dipped in the dying flames of the deep, studying the crowds as they entered. Twilight Medics, with gray, elbow-length cloaks, the architects of flesh, stood behind a variety of constructs performing menial tasks for the crowds. And the Templars of the Styxian Shores moved regally in long hauberks, which glinted blue when the moonlight caught in the rings. Regardless of house allegiance, each guest wore a black mask across their eyes. No one, not even the Eight Generals, was permitted to enter the Holy Transept on this night without a mask.

“Tonight's the night. I can feel it.” Raditz nudged his elbow against the tallest member of the group. “I'm going to join the Empress's guard.”

“Wow, Raditz,” Kakarot chuckled and put one gloved hand behind his head. “That's pretty noble of you! I had no idea you wanted to help protect our leader.”

“He's not noble in the slightest,” Vegeta grunted as they began to walk up the forty-four steps to the entrance.

“Won't argue with you Vegeta,” Radtiz countered. “But I will say you're a fool for trying to join the Red House. Why work so hard to become cannon fodder? I'd rather be covered chest to rump in all the hottest housecarls of the realm. You know that only the Unsullied get to tend to the Empress, right? Guard them, and you're set for life.”

“Who says I would be a lowly soldier in the Red House, Raditz? I'll win Captain or better tonight. The rest of you should at least vie for a lieutenancy.” He paused at the top of the steps at the entrance to the Holy Transept and looked around at the crowds. “Hmm.”

“I just hope I don't end up with the Gray House,” Broly, the tallest and lankiest of the group muttered. “I can't deal with all those half deads.”

As they paused and discussed their possible assignments, a line of Ossein Clerks, the first they'd seen that evening, walked two by two chanting a murmured chorus in Bone Argot. Unlike the other guests who had donned more formal House specific attire for this evening, the adepts of the Ossein House were dressed in black traveling cloaks with thick lace veils which completely obscured their faces. Each one had a satchel strapped to their back, and a second on their right thigh. Only their trademark shovels were missing. The initiates waited for the group to pass before speaking again.

“Now there's an assignment for the worst,” Vegeta muttered. “Gravediggers, the lot of them. Nothing more than mules to lug the bones around.”

“They should be called the Bone House, not Ossein House.” Kakarot crossed his arms and laughed a bit. “Although, without them, we'd never have the numbers to take on the other kingdoms.”

“Ossein _means_ bone, idiot. I'm not saying the House is useless,” Vegeta retorted. “My talents would simply be wasted carting ossein matter for those bone crones that control the skeletal hoards. Frankly, so would yours, Kakarot. You should be vying for the Red House as well, or at least Blue to join the Templars.”

Before crossing the threshold of the Holy Transept, each swordsman carefully adjusted their blades at their hips, checking to see that they were secured. A few final touches, tugging at the wrist hem of their gloves, shifting the horned head mask, and straightening their suit jackets preempted their entrance. Vegeta nodded to the group and they went silent as they stepped past the four massive constructs, bone and flesh amalgams, which held the entrance way open. On any other night, Her Empress's holy residence remained sealed, and the monstrous guardians of the threshold returned to their encasements as parts of the Transept's walls. Tonight, steady green orbs lit their eye-sockets and a thin film of aural energy wrapped about the creatures, enabling them to move and flex the borrowed muscle mass. Like Sisyphian prisoners, they held apart the Transept's wall with bone covered archways. While the majority of guests, berobed in their House colors paid little attention, the swordsmen couldn't help but stare up at the ceiling where the constructs had crossed their arms between one another.

“Move aside, initiates.” A terse command came from a Horseman, decked in his green riding uniform, as he shoved the swordsmen aside.

Instantly, Vegeta knocked his companions to the edge of the walkway and bowed at the waist, allowing the messenger to pass by, unobstructed. From the corner of his eye, he watched the messenger head straight for the line of Ossein Clerks. Vegeta stood, along with his companions and followed the crowds into the hall. While the other swordsmen began to spread out, Kakarot heading for the banquet tables, Broly looking for a corner to sulk in, and Raditz not so casually ingratiating himself into a group of thinly clothed Unsullied near the massive staircase, Vegeta couldn't help but follow the Horseman's movements.

At the end of the line, one of the Clerks turned to regard the messenger. The Horseman bowed at his waist and did not rise until the Clerk curled their fingers toward the man. Standing, the messenger bowed his head and spoke in whispers to the Clerk. The entire sight made irked Vegeta. The Ossein House was considered, among the trainees, to be the lowest of the seven houses. But the Horseman of Idyllwoods still offered his obsequence to a mere Clerk. The messenger moved toward Vegeta's position, and he saw the man stop near a General surrounded by several high ranking majors. He passed along whatever information was important enough to interrupt the evening, the General nodded, then rejoined the conversation with his soldiers. The messenger bowed and took his leave. Just then, the General happened to glance past his group, saw Vegeta, and motioned for him to join the group.

_Finally._

He approached the group and clasped his wrists behind his back and took up position, just outside their conversation circle. True to the nickname for recruits on this night, he stood like a ghost, completely covered with the short-horned mask and dipped from neck to toe in his black initiate suit, and waited. Bound by the oath of the ritual forbidding him to speak to the House members until they addressed him, he opted for patience, as much as it chewed away at his pride, and waited for them to speak to him. He glanced to the side and noted the messenger traveling between every group of soldiers and sharing some private message with the highest ranked member in each circle.

Elsewhere, the hall buzzed with conversation and music. Skeletal servants clattered throughout the crowds, holding small snacks and drinks on platters. House members nibbled the offerings, laughed, and sipped generously. On either side of the gallery, trained revenants played various instruments, mostly made of bone and metal, the most abundant materials in the Ebon Vale. The music was properly upbeat for the occasion of initiate selection, and Vegeta noted that a most of the recruits were starting to be welcomed into various House circles. Yet, the group before him offered not even the slightest glance.

A thin skeleton stopped next to him with a tray of small meats stabbed through with a toothpick. Each was barely charred on the outside, and topped with a bright green leaf, likely an estunirn, one of the few recuperative herbs that grew natively in the Empress's gardens. Meat was rare enough for initiates, but cooked rare like this, with a fresh plant matter was practically a once in a lifetime opportunity. He nodded his masked head at the skeletal servant and took one of the meat chunks. The skeleton clattered away to another group. Only then, did the group of Red House soldiers spare Vegeta a glance. The General spoke first.

“And now what, my young recruit? How exactly will you be consuming that?”

Vegeta straightened his posture (if that were even possible) and bowed at the waist. He paused at the bottom of this movement and considered. He was now allowed to speak, but he couldn't take his mask off to eat. And thank the Empress he couldn't take the mask off, because he realized his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. Such a rookie mistake. He righted himself and held out the appetizer to the General.

“Sir, I retrieved this for you, since it was apparent you were unable to leave this conversation.” It was a brash lie that outed the surrounding soldiers as obvious sycophants, but a direct offense was sometimes the best approach when the enemy got too close. At least, that's what the last decade of basic training had instilled in him.

The soldiers around him bristled. A few muttered insults about his height to their nearby peers. Vegeta waited, practically at attention with the meat thrust forward, offered to the General. After a collectively held breath, the General took the offer with a laugh.

“This is what I mean, Captain. Your ranks have become too soft to approach their battles head on. Get a few more ghosts like him into your lines and a frontal attack on Crucyre will be a simple task.” The General popped the meat into his mouth and Vegeta watched the surrounding soldiers buzz back to life with a false laughter and agreement. He bowed again, curtly, then returned his wrists behind his back, standing at ease. The Captain snapped his fingers at a passing skeleton. Instantly, it turned and offered the tray of food to the crowd. While Vegeta waited for the group to resume its conversation, and hopefully return their attention to him so that he could express his interest in joining the Red House, he observed the rest of the gallery.

Chattering guests began to spill into the center of the massive hall, lining up for court dances. Peppered around the area, recruits in full ghost regalia waited for attention. Many had already been pulled into various House groups, and Vegeta could see the lively conversation and acceptances of a few of his brothers in arms. Amidst the crowds, he realized that none of the Clerks of the Ossien House, so inappropriately clad for the ceremonies of the evening, in their sullen dark robes and pouches, were present. Only splashes of gold, blue, amber, green and gray within the sea of red uniforms remained.

_Good riddance. Ridiculous that they would come dressed for reconnaissance on the night of Her Majesty's appearance._

Across the hall, he saw the unmistakably lithe form of Broly surrounded by a group of lively soldiers, another General among them. Vegeta turned about, ignoring the irrelevant conversation of the group before him and tried to locate Kakarot and Raditz.

It didn't take long. Raditz was at the center of the hall, dancing with a group of royal attendants, male and female alike. Because of his size, they spun around him, their palms grazing across his chest and arms. And Kakarot was busy showing off various fighting stances for a pair of interested Templars. Vegeta's blood boiled. He was the highest ranked recruit from this year's cohort, and he was making zero progress toward securing a position in the Red House. Even the group of soldiers before him had returned to gossiping about some distant relative of the Royal House, wondering who would be lucky enough to marry into the Empress's family. Surrounded by steadily increasing drink, music, and laughter while he remained trapped in an oath of silence, Vegeta had pictured the night of his recruitment quite differently.

The group of soldiers had quite forgotten his existence by this point, so Vegeta bowed at the waist, turned, and walked to the far side of the gallery. A few skeletons continued to offer him trays of food, and it was through sheer will alone he didn't draw his sword and run it through their skulls rather than be reminded of his earlier humiliation. He spotted an open door which led to a wide terrace. Perhaps a bit of fresh air to clear his thoughts, then he would try again.

–

The click of his dress heels bounced across the doorway as he exited the main gallery of the Transept. Before him, a massive terrace overlooked the private gardens of the Empress. A ring of blue firelight illuminated the area, highlighting its emptiness. Not another soul outside the gallery, and for now, that sat well with Vegeta. He walked to the edge of the terrace and placed his gloved hands on the banister. The coldness of the stone seeped through the thin fabric and made his fingertips itch with a desire to remove his mask.

Having ascended the forty-four steps up to the Transept, the terrace overlooking the gardens sat quite high in the air. Above the grounds, the twin moons brought a cool glaze to the dark stones of the sacred residence. Anchur, the white moon, was full tonight but Denshila, the larger red moon slept on its side, half awake at the base of the far horizon. Vegeta let out a slow breath and collected his thoughts. Final selection of the recruits, taking them from ghost to initiate wouldn't end for another two weeks. Tonight was just the beginning. There was no need to rush, even if he had been convinced he would be the first chosen.

He redirected his gaze down to the gardens and took in the groves of spiral trees laden with deep purple bloodfruits and silver beelimes. A rustle of movement, a glint of white moonlight shifting like a wave caught his attention and his head snapped to the source. A figure stood near a particularly large rotgrove. The person was practically engulfed in a black cloak which fluttered through the dark grasses and dirt of the path. When the light caught the black lace across the figure's face, Vegeta scoffed.

_Just a gravedigger._

A breeze swept past him and curled down into the gardens below. Caught by the wind, the lace in front of the gravedigger's face lifted and Vegeta caught a glimpse of a white skull painted atop the Clerk's face. Black paint on the cheeks, along the bridge of the nose, over her eye sockets, and near the lips completed the illusion of a half skull, missing the jaw. Below him, the figure raised one arm, palm and fingers covered in a long black glove, extended their fingers as if to grab the moon, then twisted their wrist sharply, yanking forward, much like pulling on the cord of a bell.

_What the –_

Four massive skeletal arms exploded out of the terrace stone below his feet, grabbed him by the arms and flung him over the side of the terrace. He tucked his body in the air and managed to roll through the crash landing, but his right shoulder crunched into the dirt at the gravedigger's feet. Growling, he scuttled backwards on the ground before rising to his feet, his left arm reaching for the sword at his hip.

“Tsk, tsk.” A quiet, but chiding voice made him refocus on the painted gravedigger's face.

_Fuck._

He looked up. A woman. Beneath the billowing cloak, she wore a full black bodysuit covered in bones. A set of ribs encased her own, while thinly sliced femurs and tibias ran along her black pants. It seemed she had a second bone outside her body for each of her own. Only her hands, covered in black gloves, were absent additional bone matter.

Vegeta's hand stopped short of his pommel, remembering the rules for the recruits. At this pause, the woman grinned and tossed her fingers forward, as if she were sprinkling feed to a cluster of hungry davhens. Instantly, several partial skeletons exploded from the ground and set upon Vegeta in an indiscriminate fury. Arms with multiple hands, rib cages with extra arms, and a few skulls that seemed to be attached to multiple legs skittered toward him. With a growl, he clenched his fist and swung into the first construct, shattering the ill-formed creature into multiple spare parts.

The skeletal attackers leap at Vegeta, grabbing onto his arms and torso in an attempt to drop him against the dirt. He stomped on the skulls of the shorter forms causing the legs to explode away from the center of control, metatarsals and phalanxes scattering to the sides of the path. Another fist through the air connected with an ill-formed skull running on a pair of femurs and wayward digits. He spun and kicked to his side, crashing a menagerie of bones back into the garden.

_I need to back up, get more space, take on fewer at a time before they wear me down! Dammit._

But he could only keep up with so much and the sullen recruit was overrun with boney hands tearing at his arms and chest. Every punch he threw hit a target and fractured the attacking creatures, breaking them into two. His speed increased and he shot one leg out, crashing one skeleton into another. Using the force of his rotation, he whipped his good arm back around, catching one of the skeletons before it finished reforming.

His leg arched through the air with another roundhouse, clearing the attackers from his grasp for a split second, and in that moment, he caught the gravedigger casting her hand toward the ground. In a blink of an eye, the fallen fragments reformed into new constructs. Incomplete, but just as intent on bringing him down.

Beneath the mask, he roared. Sweat showered his body, soaking through the suit. Through his strikes, he tried his best to figure out the situation.

_If only I could use my sword, I would be able to break through the mass of bones and strike at the woman. But why is she attacking me at all? Is she an intruder to the Empress's residence I caught by accident?_

But his contemplation was rewarded with defeat as several hands captured his shoulders and arms, while others trapping his legs, forcing him to kneel before the gravedigger. Large chunks of his suit had torn away from his arms, the front of his vest and shirt ripped open. Two more hands shot up from the ground, one clamping his sword to his hip in a kind of lock, the other reaching up behind his neck, sharpened distal phalanxes digging into his throat, framing his Adam's apple without mercy. Panting hard, he swallowed and felt the hand tighten around his airway. Instinctively, his body tightened and stilled, other than his lungs pumping as much fresh air as they could.

“Very good, ghost.” The woman tossed the long cloak away from her body and over her shoulders. She kept her hood in place as she closed the distance between them. Fallen bone fragments shivered through the grass and dirt as she neared, collecting against her boots as if pulled by a magnet. “But just so we're clear – ”

She lifted one gloved hand, her palm visible to her trapped captive. She folded her fingertips toward her palm. Not much, but enough for the skeletal chains around his body to tighten, ripping into his suit further. With a turn of her wrist, one of the hands reached across his chest and ripped open what was left of his shirt, baring his chest completely.

Through the lace veil and heavy skull paint on her face, he could see her eyes widen as she examined his body. Her unnaturally _blue_ eyes. A color that he'd never seen since he joined the recruits. Somewhere in his past memories, maybe. Beneath half skull paint on her face, he caught her eyebrow raising as she examined his body.

This was too much. He had expected some form of initiation, some discussion of his skills, of his ranking among the latest recruits, maybe even a display of his swordsmanship. But what _WAS_ this? Why had he been attacked so relentlessly, without provocation, and now bound and stripped? Unintentionally, as her gaze focused on a lengthy scar across his chest, he growled and pulled against the bone traps.

“Release me, gravedigger scum!”

The woman stood straight above him and looked down her chin at him. Any trace of a smile disappeared from her black painted lips. Her hands rose to her hood and pulled back the covering. A swell of smooth black tresses caught in Anchur's white moonlight spilled over her shoulders like the dark waters before the Bright Wall.

“An unusual attitude to take with a member of a House, _recruit._ ” To emphasize her point, her fingers curled into her palm above him. The hand at his throat crunched into his airway and yanked his body backward. With his legs trapped beneath him, his spine bent at a painful angle, forcing his body to arch until his shoulders were mere inches from the ground.

He groaned at the position and stilled once again, his chest heaving with frustration. Pleased with the punishment, the woman stepped to his side and placed her hand atop his mask.

“Let's just take a look at you.” Her fingers slipped beneath the side of the mask and found the release by the top of his jaw. Realizing that the loss of his mask before the two week initiation ended would break his oath and render him unable to join the Red House or worse, a banishment to the Bright Wall, he yanked his head away from her hand, ignoring the bones piercing his throat.

“No! I am sorry! I beg you!” He groaned through the pain in his neck. Three rivulets of his blood spilled from his neck as the bones pierced his flesh and dripped across the back of his bare shoulder.

With this, she smiled again and crouched down beside him. Her eyes caught his and his body shuddered from the intensity. Could she siphon souls as well? Her fingers traced the jaw of his mask slowly, soothing him.

“You don't have to wear the mask any longer, _initiate_ ,” she emphasized. Her voice remained soft in contrast with the building pain of bones in his neck and flesh across his bent form. It was like listening to a lullaby while being tortured. “I've already selected you. It is done.”

“What?” Vegeta whispered. His eyes broke from hers and studied the half skull painted across her features. She was young, her skin was smooth beneath the paints, her black hair full and lush. This was no bone crone. This was no mere gravedigger either. But most importantly, she was absolutely not a member of the Red House.

“What?!” He regained his voice as fury pooled in his stomach. Had he already lost his chance to join the Red House? To be the next General of his generation? To lead the armies of the Ebon Vale across the Titan's Reach and to capture the distant realms of Iostoros.

Satisfied at his understanding of his fate, she yanked the short-horned mask off his face and took in his appearance. His high brow matched the flame-like black hair, full brows furrowed in anger above deep, black eyes, and his scowl curled his lips in a way that made her wish he'd still had the fangs of his youth.

“Yes,” she purred, dropping the mask to the ground and tracing her gloved fingers along his jawline again. “You will be just right in my House.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a true adventure story. I've included a reference chapter which may be updated as the story progresses for anyone who might like that information. This is a world inspired by many dark fantasy references, but I must give a very special shout out to The Locked Tomb Trilogy by Tamsyn Muir. If you enjoy the idea of a world of Necromancers, but Warhammer 40K is just too dense, please take a look at her first book, Gideon the Ninth. I am completely obsessed with her delicious writing and utterly skillful worldbuilding and cannot wait for the third and final book to be released!


	3. Denshila's Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Some mention of blood in this chapter.  
> Halloweenie Prompt: Blood (Shocking, right?)
> 
> A stand up thank you once again to  for being a wonderful beta and helping me cull through all the details of this story!

Vegeta had been stabbed before. Once in his arm during a live weapon training exercise. Another in his thigh from a fight between squads that got out of hand. The sensation of a blade slicing apart the ligaments of his muscle, parting the flesh and exiting his body, shining with his blood was hard to forget. Just thinking about those moments caused his nerves to tingle with a tiny shock of pain.

But this. This is what he imagined being run through his whole gut with a broadsword must feel like. A line of heat sped through his stomach, crashed against the nerves of his spine and lit his flesh on fire with intense anger. And yet, actually being stabbed probably would have hurt less that being trapped as a servant of the Ossein House, forever locked away from his goals of leading one of the Eight Armies to victory, to bringing home the heads of the Empress's enemies, to expanding the realm of the Ebon Vale.

His mask ripped from his face, he had only two choices. Accept the assignment and become a gravedigger, the lowest member of the Seven Houses, or return forever to a civilian life. Anything else would cause his spoken oath to burn through the hollows of his heart with the a black flame of betrayal. The bones slicing into his neck and thighs were only a degree less painful than the smug look on the woman's face above him.

“Will you swear an oath to my House,” she paused and looked over his body once more, as if assessing a slab of meat. “Or refuse and let your broken oath burn you alive?”

“WHY?” Vegeta roared, shaking in the boney shackles, but not fighting against them. “Why by Anchur's Eye do you want me for gravedigging?! I am practiced of the sword and fist. Not a shovel! ” Seeing no interest or sympathy in the woman's eyes, he blurted out one last detail, hoping to embarrass her.

“Woman, I am the Heir of the First Cathedra of Idyllwoods. This service would be an insult to the Houses of the Empress of Shade herself!”

She stood, crossing her arms. Her gaze moved away from him and back toward the Transept.

“Intriguing. The bones will release you now.”

_Thank Hell._

She walked past his bound form, passing his head. Out of his view, he heard the base of her cloak shift through the short grass, along with several quiet footsteps maybe three or four meters behind him. Her voice directed its attention to the interlopers only. “Thank you. Now leave us.”

Footsteps receded and Vegeta was left, again, with the woman and the winds of the garden. She walked past his form, holding a bundle in her arms. The bones around his body cracked and popped off his flesh, falling the ground just before his body collapsed backwards. A wayward phalanx stayed lodged in his throat. With a groan, he pulled it from his flesh and tossed it away. The bone fragments shivered along the ground and chased after the woman's cloak, quickly disappearing beneath the thick doeskin.

“Heir of Idyllwoods, the Red House shall not have you. Stand and follow me. Your initiation is incomplete.” Facing the back of the garden, she spoke calmly. “I remind you not to draw your weapon.” With that, she continued down the path, turning past the clusters of beelimes.

Vegeta huffed and watched the woman, rubbing his neck to tide the wounds. Beside him, his ghost mask had been left face down in the dirt. Certainty settled in his gut with the realization that he would rather join a great House, even as a bonedigger, than be cast from the Houses, losing his title and rights as a warrior of the Ebon Vale. Breaking the recruits' oath simply wasn't an option.

“Either I dig bones for them, or become bones for them.” He ripped off the remainder of his torn shirt and added to the pile of scraps on the ground constituting jacket and vest. Now bare chested, his gloves felt particularly odd. He tugged at his wrists, removing them as well. He stood, not bothering to brush off the dirt from his body and glared at Anchur. “This is your fault, moon.”

He muttered a limp curse at the white stone in the sky and followed the path into the garden. Past a grand Aegean willow, its slate blue branches curving over the manicured walkway like an arch, he saw the woman waiting by a low pond that stretched beyond the visible horizon, likely cascading down the long hillside of the Transept's borders. To the side, a stone bench held the bundle of cloth she carried before, along with a small, strapped pouch. Her long cloak draped smoothly over the back of the bench. Her long, black hair was tucked away from her face in a low ponytail that reached past her shoulder blades. Without shame, Vegeta glanced over the woman's form.

She was smaller than he had suspected. Her height would be a few inches below his own if it weren't for the boots she wore. A quick calculation of the various ossein matter covering her outfit totaled twenty, maybe twenty-five kilos. Considering her lithe form, she would be slowed considerably by the extra weight. He frowned. She would be a burden in battles, if he were even lucky enough to find himself in any.

“Sword first. Lay it by your feet.” She crossed her arms, the only area of her body without exterior bone mass and observed him. He reached for his weapon, but paused. “You will not break your oath by following the requests of a member of a House.”

He considered her bright blue eyes with a pause. He unsnapped the leather strap holding his pommel still, then unbuckled the belt at his waist. He placed the sword at his left side on the ground.

“Now, strip.” As heat flushed through his chest, his eyes shot back to hers, expecting to see a smirk of amusement. But her lips were flat, and the half-skull painted across her face made her emotional state difficult to discern.

“You first,” he snapped.

“You did not need to ask.” The young woman blinked, slowly, and he saw a smile cross her painted lips. She dropped her arms to her side, and with one hand, made a sweeping motion away from her body. The collected bone matter shivered and fell to the ground with a clatter. Her gloved fingers rose to her neck and worked at the buttons by her throat. As her fingers descended between her breasts, Vegeta swallowed.

_What is going on?_

She untucked the shirt, slid her fingers up along the buttoned edge, traveling up her belly to her clavicle and pulled the shirt from her shoulders, dropping it to the ground atop the bones. A black silk corset hugged her breasts. Her fingertips brushed along the front closures but continued a downward route instead, and stopped at the button for her pants. Unhooked, her hands swept about her hips, pulling the pants from her body. She folded her body, pushing the material down her thighs. At her ankles, she quickly unlaced her boots and removed both. She straightened herself and stood without shame, her gloved hands by her sides. The corset and a delicate black tanga with lace strings across her hips framed her pale skin. She watched him look over her form, then raised her hands and removed the tie holding her long, black hair in the ponytail.

Long, straight strands of her black hair fell across her shoulders, emphasizing the swell of her breasts still locked away in her corset. He wished, quite suddenly, that she didn't have her face paint on, because the half naked form before him stirred a deep need in his belly.

“What is your name, initiate?” Her fingertips rose again to the clasps at the top of her corset. She waited for his answer.

“Vegeta,” he paused.

“As an heir, I assume that is also your surname?” She unsnapped the first clasp between her breasts.

“Correct.” With some hesitation, he fumbled for the button at his pants and began to follow her order. He kicked his shoes off and stood before her in only his black, form-fitting trunks. His hands twitched as he glanced at his sword on the ground. Throughout training, the recruits ate, slept, and worked with their weapon on. It was only removed for bathing. While he wasn't ashamed of his form, the situation was confusing him deeply. He hesitated then met her blue eyes again. “And, what must I call you? I …”

“Yes, you only know the insults to the Ossein House, don't you. A pity the training grounds foster such an attitude toward the largest element of our fine armies.”

Vegeta absolutely wasn't happy with this arrangement, but he couldn't stomach the idea of losing all rights as a warrior if he refused the position in her House. Farming starch roots was not a choice for him. He bit the inside of his lip and chose to bow his head a bit in apology.

“Ah, I knew there was more nobility to you than that sharp mouth as soon as I saw your face.” She stepped into his space and raised one hand to his jaw, placing it gently over a small scratch he had received earlier. “Tell me, Vegeta, who do you serve in the Ebon Vale?”

He lifted his head. This close, the difference in their height was obvious. She stood a few inches below him, so his black eyes looked down into hers. The bright blue unsettled his gut, but without a doubt in his eyes, he answered.

“Our Empress, the Sacred Lady of Shade, Guardian and Sovereign of the Ebon Vale.” Bulma's fingers trailed down his neck and lingered at the raw wounds her attack had left earlier.

“Why?” Her eyes dropped from his and instead watched her own fingers trace the lines of his body, across his clavicle and shoulder, then down his bare bicep.

“Her stewardship has allowed the Ebon Vale to thrive for more than three thousand years. Our territories have never been so vast, our armies and our necromancy have never been stronger, our towns have never lived in such comfort as we do now on this side of the Vast Abyss. The threat of the Bright Wall has all but been silenced thanks to her leadership.”

The slight necromancer before him returned her hands to her corset and unclasped the front snaps. Vegeta froze, still unsure of what was expected of him in this moment. For certain, parts of his body had a very clear expectation. But he kept his hands at his side, thankful she had not ordered him to remove his trunks, thankful it was night. The steady clicks of her corset were the only sounds tapping against his eardrums as she pulled the fabric from her ribs and dropped it to the ground. Her revealed body, pale as Anchur's half light, was lithe, with curve that swelled from her bare breasts, along her slight waist, to the roundness of her hips. Framed now by her long black hair and the black tanga, only the garish face paint of the Ossein House shattered the illusion that a House breeding consort stood before him.

She raised one hand to his chest, placing her gloved palm atop his collar bone. This close, she needed to raise her chin to look him straight in the eye, but she did not. Her voice quieted.

“And this? Why are you so marked with such a scar before an initiation to the Houses?” Her fingers splayed across his chest and the tips followed the line of the old scar from the top of his pectoral to the edge of his sternum.

Vegeta swallowed and clenched his fists. Her nearness surrounded him with her scent. Unobtrusive, but reminiscent of stone tombs and gray lilies. She neither moved like a bone crone, the ageless witches of the Ossein House who orchestrated the skeletal hoards, nor like a digger. The painted woman before him moved like a consort, but he suspected suggesting this role to someone with such powerful necromancy, while mostly naked, would be a fatal error. She was an enigma to him, but her body and her touches were not.

“As I said, My … Lady?” he tried out the possible title, straining to be polite as she explored his chest and decided to direct his attention to the sky instead of her breasts. “I am practiced of sword and fist. I chose to train for admission to the Red House and am versed in all nine styles of the blade. This practice comes with a price. One I was too eager to pay to become the best.”

“And are you the best of the recruits?” She studied his chest, fingers drifting across his abdomen.

“Without dispute.”

“Vegeta, Heir of Idyllwoods, I wish you to take the oath of the Ossein House.” From his peripheral vision, he noticed she raised her chin now to look at him. Her hand rose again to his jaw and pulled his gaze to hers. He could not help but scowl once more at this request, especially now that she must have understood how ill-suited he would be in her service. Seeing this, her body softened and stepped against his. Both hands rose to his jaw and held his gaze steady on hers as her breasts pressed against his chest.

“I require a knight,” she whispered. “Just one. One that can hold his own against my constructs, one that is not afraid of the blade, one that is loyal to our Empress. I require … you.”

She leaned forward on her toes, lifting her slight frame against his, and kissed him on the lips. He expected to taste the paint, but only soft lips met his. His heart pounded in his chest, screaming at his hands to react as her breasts crushed against his body, her nipples taut. Her fingers trailed down his neck and slipped behind his shoulders. She pulled herself closer to him. As her hips pressed into his and he could no longer deny his hardness, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her away from his body.

“Why?” Vegeta asked with slow exhale. “The Ossein House doesn't award knights, nor does it keep them. Only the Armies and the Templars.”

She smiled and brushed her fingertips at the base of his hair. Her eyes scanned the gravity defying locks at his sharp widow's peak.

“Because I am forced to travel alone.”

“Ossein Necromancers _never_ travel alone. They move with their gravedigg – with their _Clerks_ to haul the bone matter they need.”

“That is true, but I must travel without their support. Do not worry about becoming a _gravedigger_ , Vegeta. I have no need for you to carry, nor gather my supplies. I do that all on my own. But I do need a fighter for protection. I need a sword at my side, but this is a skill I do not have. You wish to fight for our Empress and the Ebon Vale? I swear upon Denshila's light that you shall. Will you take the oath?”

This settled his heart and for the first moment since he arrived at the Holy Transept, he softened.

“I will.” He bowed his head in acquiescence.

Behind his head, he felt her tug the glove off her right arm. Her hand slid back over his shoulder and rested atop his pectoral, over his heart.

“Repeat the oath and become my knight.” She held his gaze and spoke softly. He echoed obediently.

_May the tombs of the Ebon Vale be ever full,  
_ _May the Ossein House be shield to our shade._

 _May I fight until the last of my flame cinders away my flesh,  
_ _May I defend my House against those who would seek to destroy its foundations,  
_ _May I honor this vow without dissimulation._

 _Through strife and shadow,  
_ _I will my strength to the Ossein House._  
_Through flame and ash,  
_ _I will my blood to the Sacred Lady, Empress of Shade._

She guided him through the final words, watching his expression carefully.

“I, Vegeta, do so swear on the bones of my flesh and the flesh of my bones.” He caught some off expression in her eyes as he finished and parted his lips to ask. But words did not follow.

His breath was interrupted by a thick bone shard slicing through his flesh and lodging into the side of his heart. He groaned and collapsed to his knees. Her body dropped with him to the ground, her hand covering the deep wound on his chest.

“I know this is painful, but it is necessary for the oath,” she confessed. Her hand pulled away from his chest, palm now covered in blood. On his knees, he swayed, his vision beginning to blur. He watched her paint his own blood between her breasts before lifting his sword hand to her body. She placed her hand atop his on the edge of her sternum, his fingers cupping her breast. A second bone passed from her bloodied palm, through his hand, and dove into her own chest.

She grunted, biting her lip and he gasped at the fresh pain shooting through his arm.

“Hear me, Denshila! I, Bulma, do so bind this man's flesh to my own. Through strife and shadow, I will our strength as one. Through fire and ash, may our blood guide us to the Sacred Lady, Empress of Shade.”

He fell onto his side, pulling her down to the grass with him. Between them, a pool of slowing blood settled at their ribs.

“It is done, Vegeta, First Knight of the Ossein House.” Her fingers entwined his, still close to her chest, just as he groaned and passed out.

–

A dull ache in his chest bothered him awake. Opening his eyes, he saw first Denshila's red glow in the waters of the pool. He watched the half moon skirt across the small ripples, not remembering why he was in a garden, not wanting to move his body lest the ache spread further. But his mind felt the lingering absence of his sword.

“We must depart soon. Our blood will dry and Denshila's Path along the waters will not be visible much longer. Likely, your absence from the Transept will be noticed as well.” Bulma's voice caused the bone lodged in his heart to pulse, forcing him fully awake. Vegeta groaned and sat up, looking down at his chest and sword hand.

No evidence of the ceremony was apparent. Only his old training scar remained. But he could feel her magic inside his body. Never, in his years of training, had he heard that the initiation rites were so bloody.

“Your new uniform is here. Dress quickly. I will explain our task as you do.”

Vegeta sat up and scanned the garden. A pool of their shared blood had slipped into the waters and instead of dispersing like one liquid inside another, it lay straight across the surface of the water, only curving with the direction of the pond. Bulma stood by a large stone next to a stack of clothing. Already redressed, her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and she was just securing the top button of her blouse. Her cloak and a massive pile of bones waited beside her. He rose, absently pressing his fingers to his chest.

“The Empress is an impostor,” she stated.

“ _What??_ ” He paused on his way to the clothing, scrutinizing the necromancer as she dressed.

“A mimic, actually. A very, very finely crafted construct designed to fool the leaders of the Seven Houses.”

“How is it you know this, … Bu – My Lady?” Vegeta picked through the pile of new clothes and found a well-tailored uniform. Black, like the Ossein Clerks, but with a thicker material.

“To those closest to the Empress, it is obvious. But that group is extremely small and has limited contact with the rest of the Vale. One of the Amber Scholars was able to provide definitive proof of the switch just a few nights ago. We've discovered that a group of the Twilight Medics are likely responsible for the … _thing_ , that pretends to sit on the Holy Throne, but this action was the result of an internal coup by the generals of the Red House.”

New doeskin breeches on, Vegeta listened, his eyebrows furrowing. As she spoke, the pile of bones shimmered and gathered upon her boots, creeping up her sides like a rolling ladder. From foot to neck, the bones found their homes and outlined her body with an external skeleton. The sight unsettled him, causing a few hairs on his neck to rise. He picked up a supplied black undershirt, complete with long sleeves, the outer edges covered with a thick, silk ribbing and pulled it over his chest. He adjusted the lacing at the front to pull the garment in tight against his form.

“Few citizens in our kingdom know about this treachery. Even fewer in the Houses can be trusted. I have been tasked by those loyal to our true Empress, to undertake the journey to recover her from the traitors of the Red House.” Bulma retrieved her heavy cloak as the last bone settled against her rib cage, tightening the blouse around her chest. “Because we are uncertain who in the armies was responsible for this, along with their allies in the Medics, it would be foolish to move a large force to retrieve the Empress. The possible numbers we would be up against easily overshadow our own.”

“So, you must move with stealth.” Vegeta surmised the situation and picked up a dark, heavy doublet. From the weight, he supposed it had been fortified with steel, but the fabric-covered construction allowed him to more easily wrap it over his chest and secure the garment at the side. Hidden armor. The weight wouldn't bother him much, and its secret would give him a surprising advantage in a sword fight. Beside his sword belt, a smaller strap with a small pouch waited. He grabbed the little container and looked inside. Two tiny pots of paint and a pair of brushes sat nestled together.

“That is for your face. I'll help you at first, but you'll need to learn how to draw the paint yourself.” Bulma pulled the hood over her hair and settled the lace across her eyes. “I can only assume that you are fairly recognizable, being the heir of a major house. However, two Clerks wandering the land for new bones will raise no concern. The cloak will better hide your sword, though I hope it does not hinder your skill.”

“The cloak will not be a problem.” Vegeta picked up the small pouch and strapped it over his upper arm. He unbuckled his sword belt, doubling its length. He looped it once around the waist of his doublet, and a second time about his hip. The sword rested at his left side. He secured the belt, then secured the pommel by a smaller strap. “But, if we run into other Clerks, I can not speak Bone Argot.”

“I will teach you a few words, but until then you will have undertaken the Vow of the Grave and remain silent out of respect for our bones.” She crossed the path and stood before him. “Now, sit and let me paint you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another inspiration for this fic came from the metal band "Ghost," whose music I only encountered about a month ago. I'm totally obsessed with some of their songs. I'd highly recommend listening to "[Dance Macabre](https://youtu.be/7Gr63DiEUxw)," and "[Square Hammer](https://youtu.be/VqoyKzgkqR4)". Their serious-not-serious approach to metal is incredibly entertaining, their bass lines are fantastic, and the lead singer's voice just makes me smile.


	4. The Amber Caves of the Dying Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma the necromancer and Vegeta the knight begin their journey together down the Empress's mountain, but to get started, Vegeta needs to open a door. Let the banter begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloweenie Prompt: Cemetery  
> Very special thank you to Blackswans22 for beta'ing this work!

Within the hour, they had followed Denshila's fading bloodmagic path, walking along the cascading ponds of the Royal gardens of the Holy Transept. But the waters had ended and the last glow of the path had led them to a forgotten corner of the grounds overlooking the northern edge of the Empress's mountain.

“There should be a path here somewhere that will take us safely through the Scholar's Caves at the base of this mountain.” Bulma glanced about. The garden was not manicured here. Flatnut trees grew in wild tangles and obscured the area. She knelt down and grabbed a fallen nut, cracking it open.

Vegeta walked to the edge of the grove and grabbed onto the trunk of a tree. Below the roots, the ground fell away to a sharp cliff. From his feet, the first platform a body might reach was perhaps twenty horse strides below. Beyond that, the next was a good fifty strides. Far below, he could make out the silhouette of the Amber Caves, jutting rectangular prismatic stones with sharp angles that clustered on one side of the Lake of Dying Flames. In the moonlight from this height, the waters moved like black oil. Looking out from the edge of the cliff, he could see the border of the Idyllwoods to the south, and for the first time in his life, the open wastes of Titan's Reach to the east. For a moment, he felt a deep kinship with the falcons of his homeland.

“Tell me we are not going over the edge of the mountain.” Vegeta stepped back from the trees. Bulma was busy brushing away several tall grasses against the side of a hill. After a moment, she revealed a slab of stone.

“We are not going over the edge of the mountain. This is the door. Stand back,” Bulma tossed her cape over one shoulder. “I'll open this.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I doubt you can lift my sword, much less that stone.” The newly painted knight stepped in front of the small necromancer and squatted at the stone.

“Vegeta – ”

“You chose me for my strength, didn't you?” Vegeta interrupted, gripping the edges of the stone. Straining, he angled his body back like a lever attempting to dead lift the massive object off the ground.

Bulma shrugged and peeled open another flatnut, nibbling the soft kernel within.

“Mmm, these are better than I remember.” Her little sounds of delight were the most upbeat tone he had heard from his new charge since they met. Still, he grit his teeth, growled under his breath and tugged at the stone. It refused to budge, no matter how much the knight swore and grunted. Panting, he gave one more massive tug. Every muscle in his body flexed, and from her vantage behind him, she could see how his thighs strained against his new doeskin breeches. He grumbled in defeat, stood, and removed his cloak.

“Are you finished opening the door for me yet?” Bulma teased him and sat on the ground, collecting a few more flatnuts.

“No.” He switched positions, moving to the incline of the hill and wedged his heels at the top of the stone. Bracing his arms behind him, he tried shoving the stone off the ground with his legs. Grunting deep in his chest, he tensed his body, hands digging backwards into the grassy mound, and shoved his boots into the stone with all his strength.

The door remained still. He relaxed his legs and looked around the wild grove. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and smudged the white paint.

“Why didn't we just leave the Transept normally? What's the point of masquerading as Bone Clerks if we must travel a different way?” He stood, unfinished with his task and sought out a large, fallen branch. He stomped on the smaller branches, creating a mostly straight pole, then wedged one end under the stone.

“Exiting the Transept by the front gate would have taken us directly through the Rite of Selection. Perhaps you noticed that Bone Clerks at the Rite were not moving in pairs, but in sections of twelve. Other Houses were the same. Always three scholars, always two templars. The formalities of the Rites are incredibly strict. Although your tenure as a ghost was likely the shortest in recent history, I'm sure you bumped into a few rules before meeting me.”

Vegeta snorted at the understatement and levered the branch as hard as he could.

“Two clerks would have immediately set off suspicion. The only other descent from this mountain has been long hidden. Practically forgotten, which is why we needed Denshila to show us the path.”

The branch finally cracked under his pressure, splintering bark and wood into the air. Vegeta grumbled and kicked the stone.

“Guess we need to go find some more clerks because this stone isn't budging.” Vegeta panted slightly from his efforts and irritation. Bulma stood and handed him a small pile of cracked flatnuts.

“Eat these and move back.” She stood before the stone slab. Vegeta snorted but obeyed, sitting on a nearby log.

Bulma pulled back the hood of her cape, crouched in front of the stone, and placed her fingertips on the edge.

“'uʄa hɛm. ais 'amra,” she hummed in Bone Argot, closing her eyes. “ksauʒ ˈketɛ, ʒa tʃoʃq.” Behind her, Vegeta tossed flatnut shells into the grass. Bulma stood, taking a step back. The ground rumbled causing the tall grasses to shiver in excitement. The rumbling paused, then shook the ground with a bang, causing dozens of flatnuts to fall from the trees above, pelting Vegeta in the head.

“Dammit!” He stood and brushed the fodder from his outfit.

Bulma turned her head away from him and held in a laugh. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hood over her head, adjusting the lace before her eyes. The stone slab coughed dust into the air as a large split revealed itself through the center. The two sides lifted from the ground, and on the inner edges, Vegeta could see an array of skeletal hands pushing the stone open. Bulma picked up Vegeta's cloak, handing it to him.

“I said I would open it,” she couldn't help but smirk softly as he snatched the fabric from her hand. She reached up and plucked a stray flatnut from his hair with a grin. “This area, and the depths below were long used as cemeteries before the Holy Transept was constructed.”

Flat-faced, Vegeta took the information in stride as he connected the clasp of his cloak to the front of his doublet.

Below the stone doorway, a long staircase had been carved into the mountain. Moonlight illuminated some of the path, but it soon curved into darkness.

“Should I make a torch, or do you have a skeleton for that as well?” They glanced up at the moons.

“Dawn will approach within a few hours, but until then, we'll need a light. My necromancy only moves the bones. It does not ignite them.”

Vegeta nodded and immediately set to task. He collected a bundle of tall grasses, wound them together in a simple braid, then wrapped them about a long branch. He set the torch onto a stone, then pulled out his sword. Stepping back, he lunged at the stone, scraping the rock at an incredible speed with a long thrust. The strike set off a few sparks which landed onto the bundle. He sheathed his sword, then crouched down at the torch, covered the sparks with both hands and blew gently, breathing life into the flame.

“While I'm certain your strength will come in handy,” she opened her palm to the stairs, “You'll recall it was actually your sword I needed from you. Lead on.”

They entered the stairway, Vegeta in front. As soon as Bulma's head was below ground level, she paused and spoke to the bones again.

“hɛʔ bje ˈblinhi.” She swept one palm along the carved, stone wall. Above, the stone doors began to close, the skeletal hands pulling the slabs back into place. “ʒa tʃoʃq.”

Vegeta continued down the steps. He had never been so close to a speaker of Bone Argot before. Her murmurs seemed to crack across her tongue then disappear like a fleeing shadow. It was like a memory of words, sounds which were struggling to join together into a language but somehow became stuck in a trap. With a thunk, the stone above them closed and the light of the torch cast an orange glow on the winding stairs. Whoever had carved this path was at least considerate enough to place small landings every hundred steps or so.

“How far down are we headed?”

“About a half hour if we don't stop.” In a line, they continued down the path. The walls were fairly narrow and every few moments, Vegeta's sword knocked against the stone. Thankfully, the ceiling was twice their height so the torch's smoke could safely drift above them. The crackle of the torch spit against the walls, but because of the weight of the mountain above them, the sound halted without reverberation. Boots on stone and their thick, doeskin cloaks patting down the stairs offered the only other noises.

“So, where is the Empress?” Vegeta asked almost indifferently, scanning the unending steps before them. The path was curiously absent any small signs of life. No spider webs, no weeds, barely any dust.

“I don't know yet.”

“Then how are we planning on retrieving her?”

“I mean, _I_ don't know, but my sources do. We'll meet one at the Caves.”

They continued forward in silence, both lost in separate thoughts. The stairwell had been carved like a snake navigating its way up a tree. Bent to the left, then a curve without much descent, then another bend to the right. Without signs of life passing through the area, its age was difficult to determine.

“Has this passage been here since the building of the Holy Transept?” Vegeta paused at one of the small landings and handed Bulma the torch. She took it, joining him on the flat area and looked back the way they came.

“I wouldn't know that.”

“But you knew about the passage.” Vegeta leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.

“My sources informed me of the path.”

“Who is still trustworthy? Who are your sources?” He asked without malice, but there was an impatience to his questions.

“I can't tell you that.” Bulma walked past him, avoiding his eyes, and continued down the stairs. Vegeta's mood soured and he let the woman advance a considerable distance before following. For a while, he chose to walk in the half dark, watching the small necromancer lead the shadows away. His fingers absently brushed against his chest. For such a bloody initiation ceremony, and for such a critical task, his charge seemed deeply distrustful of him. He took the oath, didn't he? Swore his flesh to her house. What more could she possibly ask of him?

Oaths were the foundation of the entire society of the Vale. The warrior caste didn't just _break_ their oaths on a whim. Not with death and eternal service as the consequence. Was it so different for the necromantic caste? Those born with the ability to conjure and control souls and auras, or manipulate flesh and bone, or walk in the liminal spaces of memories, death, and dreams were rare enough, and powerful enough to rule the kingdom. The Empress herself was credited for holding the Vale safe from collapsing into the Vast Abyss to the east. Every child in the land was taught that she had sworn an oath to the edge of the earth in exchange for the safety of the Vale. So even the Empress wasn't exempt from the Law of Oaths. He paused on a step and watched Bulma descend around another corner.

The torchlight all but disappeared and left him in the dark. His mind wandered back to the initiation ceremony while his eyes attempted to adjust to the overbearing darkness. A raw shudder of pain thumped through his heart as the memory took form in his mind. She had stabbed him, through the heart, with a bone. And then … ?

“Unf,” he groaned and braced his hand on the stone wall. This was no memory. Real, true pain seeped into his chest and caused his heart to stutter once. A crushing ache spread through his lungs, locking his body away from necessary breath. One foot slipped off the edge of the step and he slumped against the wall, his hand gripping at the doublet covering his chest.

“Vegeta?” Bulma ran around the corner, light filling the small passage once again. Vegeta's head dropped forward as he worked to catch his breath.

“What .. what did you DO to me, Bulma?” He grunted as his heart relaxed, the pain subsiding. Breath exchanged past parted lips as he pushed himself back off the wall.

“What are you talking about? I was just walking down the steps and realized you weren't behind me.” She lifted the lace before her eyes and looked him over. A few small beads of sweat had collected at his forehead and his eyes seemed to lack the intense focus he had just hours ago. She leaned up on her toes and placed her hand upon his forehead.

“Maybe you're just afraid of the dark,” she offered.

He smacked her hand away and glared.

“Knock it off,” he snapped and grabbed the torch from her hand. With a shove, he passed her and continued down the steps again. Bulma's brow furrowed and she followed him quickly, skipping a few steps to catch up.

“Knights are supposed to be respectful toward their charge, you know.” She rubbed her wrist.

“And my charge is supposed to honor my oath, but I guess that's another thing you _don't know_.” He spat his words and came to a halt. “Which way?”

The passage widened to a cavern four times their height. The light of the torch hit multiple glass-like surfaces and as a result, the space revealed itself to the travelers. Multiple paths in several directions lay before them, each with the same crystaline structures embedded in the walls.

Bulma stepped in front of the knight and stood in the center of the area. She considered each direction carefully. She walked forward to one path, pressed her hand to the prismatic crystal jutting from the passage way, then repeated the examination for each possible direction. Vegeta huffed in annoyance and waited. When she paused at the last possible direction, he walked toward her.

She turned and looked at him with surprisingly guilty eyes.

“Oh, don't tell me,” he started just as she bit her lip. “You don't know.”

“Fine I _won't_ tell you.” She walked up to him and snatched the torch. Dropping it to the ground, she stomped on it several times leaving them in a quickly darkening cave and a swirl of smoke.

He caught her eyes at the last blink of firelight and glared.

“Petty woman.”

In the renewed darkness, he heard her cloak brush against the floor, then flare. Presumably, she turned around then sat on the ground.

“Just sit.” She was trying not to sound annoyed, but failing.

“No.” Petulant, but so was she.

They waited in the darkness. He wasn't entirely sure how far down they had traveled within the mountain, but since his ears had popped a few times, he guessed they were near the bottom. He distracted himself with a distance calculation as the darkness settled upon his shoulders, wondering if she had been right earlier. But no pain stirred through his chest, no weakness wrapped around his legs.

He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, his world darkened even more.

_That means there's light in here, somewhere._

He held his body still and waited a few seconds. Then, he opened his eyes again. His vision began to adjust, picking up the smallest glint of light bouncing through some of the prismatic shards around the tunnel of one path. He studied the path and watched the shards begin to glow, like a low, forgotten fire. Dark orange not strong enough to penetrate through the entire crystals, and thus casting hot shadows on their neighbors. The orange began to bleed into a pink, then a deep yellow, and finally, every prism was alight with various tones of amber. None of the other paths illuminated with the reflected light of the rising dawn.

“Let's go.” Bulma stood, brushed off her cloak, and walked into the glowing path.

She had known which path would be the right one, but not at the moment he asked. Mentally, he conceded defeat to this argument and swore to give her the benefit of the doubt in the future. His sharpness had been unwarranted, though he was still bitter about being regarded as untrustworthy by her.

The path through the Amber Caves was much wider than the stairway, enough for four or five people to walk abreast. It seemed a luxurious way to dig into a mountain, but he soon realized the need for this feature. The walls were not still. At first, he assumed the movement was a trick of the light bouncing between different shards at different angles, but with close inspection, he saw the shards were shifting silently along the wall. Near every shard, embedded in the wall were clusters of bones. Chunks of old skeletons which acted like dams in the stone. The prisms shifted around the bones, leaving them undisturbed. This caused the tunnel to warp slightly as they walked, the walls closing in before shifting along the path.

“Why do the prisms move?” Vegeta asked with a low voice. He found that he was genuinely curious about the caves, having only heard legends of their golden color and the lake at the base of the Empress's mountain.

“They aren't stone, if that's what's bothering you.” Bulma paused and touched a larger shard. The amber glow brightened and it stopped shifting along the wall. Others around it shifted and split, like a school of fish continuing through the reeds. She looked back at Vegeta and he saw that her eyes had taken on a low, golden glow. Moving her hand away, the prism dimmed and rejoined the slow shift of its cousins along the wall. Her eyes shifted back to blue.

“As you know, the Amber Caves are tended by the scholars. They use these prisms as _calls_ of knowledge.” She walked forward in the glittering tunnel, Vegeta following behind. “The scholar adepts collect stories, information, and facts from the living, then the Ascendant Scholars, those with the talent to walk through both the minds of the living and the dead, transfer the information into the bones. The prisms allow those from other castes and houses to make use of the stored knowledge. I am not trained on the exact mechanism, but there's an interaction between the sun, the prisms, and the knowledge bones. Between the three, the prisms are said to 'dance' in expectation of use.”

“What about those other pathways back there? The ones the light didn't reach?” Vegeta tapped a nearby prism and the images of a haggard Twilight Medic walking across a battlefield, waking the half-dead back into service flooded his mind. The woman had been shot by an arrow to her belly. As her left hand gripped the shaft in a sorry attempt to plug the tide of blood pouring from her body, her right passed atop the foreheads of the fatally wounded. Their mangled bodies shuddered with a blue glow and flopped forward with the tell-tale sign of revenancy. Movement without a soul.

“Unopened sections of the Caves.” Bulma watched her knight for a cogent moment.

“What?” He removed his hand before the image dug too deeply into his mind. His own eyes faded from gold back to black.

She shook her head and continued on. These caves, with their wild angles and mixed contents allowed the sound of their footsteps to carry forward. Vegeta took care not to touch the prisms as they traveled downwards again. The tunnel sloping in descent. The further they traveled, the more apparent the bones in the wall became. By the carved stairs, the walls had been practically infested with the prisms, leaving no space for bones to be stored. Here, closer to the halls of the scholars, an equitable mix had been installed. The prisms still shifted, but large swaths of bone impeded their flow.

The tunnel felt endless and Vegeta estimated that they had traveled no less than two leagues since they left the stairs. By now, the prisms were alight with sharp yellows and whites as the post-dawn sun spent its light through the caverns. A cluster of unknown footsteps disturbed the rhythm of their stride as they approached a wide curve in the tunnel.

“Bulma,” Vegeta whispered.

“I hear them,” she hissed. She shoved Vegeta against a large outcropping of bones, his back pressed to the skeletal wall and she stepped into his space, crushing her chest to his.

“ˈaŋɛk ˈketɛ, ʒa tʃoʃq.,” Bulma slipped her hands beside Vegeta's ribs, palms against the bones behind his body and muttered the Argot quickly. “ˈʍʊ̃tʃ. Hɛrf ˈʍʊ̃tʃ!”

Without a crack or a whisper, the bones stretched, doubled, and grew around them in a type of cage. Bones behind his body shifted around them, catching Bulma's hood as they passed, then closed the two against the stone wall. As the bones settled into place, shrinking again to normal size, Bulma stood chest to chest, with only a hair's width between her and her knight. Because of the prisms to the sides, they weren't encased in total darkness.

They stilled. Bulma held her head to the side, listening for the group of unknowns. Her black hair brushed against Vegeta's mouth. The encasement left them room to breath, but almost no room to move. Bulma's hands were trapped beneath Vegeta's arms, her palms flat against barren stone. Vegeta, disliking this solution immensely, held his hands as fists at his sides.

Old voices and slow footsteps neared their position. The scholars seemed impatient and upset with one another. Bulma swallowed a breath and used her thumb to tap Vegeta's back, counting the number outside their shelter.

_Tap, tap, tap._

A silent snort of breath raced across her hair, then a fingertip tapped her thigh.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap … tap._

As her finger started jabbing him in the back, more insistently, her entire hand twisted and she grabbed his back. Her body stumbled into his and he felt her bite down on a yelp. Turning his head to his left and down, he saw a large prism attempting to shift through her torso. Because it made contact with her, it stilled, but only after shoving into her rib cage. The bones in front merely hid them, but she hadn't encased them completely in ossein matter. Stone lay bare behind them, which meant the prisms would slowly crush them together if they didn't get out soon.

Another prism slowly pressed into the two bodies, this one at his left thigh. The low position caused his hips to shift with a slight rotation, bumping hers.

“This is unacceptable. Why hasn't she been found?” A gravely voice, likely from a man who should have been put to task as a skeleton several years ago, barked at his companions.

“Lord Calces, we do know that she has not yet left the Rite of Selection.” A younger voice, also male, attempted to quell the bristling scholar. Another prism settled into Bulma's side, this time near her kidneys. She dropped her face against Vegeta's doublet and bit the edge at the shoulder. He could feel her trembling and realized the prism must be digging hard into her body. With difficulty, he managed to slide his right hand up her unaffected side. He gripped the back of her neck, urging her to stay silent.

“Idiots. Of course she has left.”

“Our scouts have not seen her, my Lord!”

“She isn't so stupid to have left by the front gate. She must have exited elsewhere. She wasn't at the first Ceremony of Ghosts, and those Clerks won't divulge her location. She has fled. Somehow.”

“Lord Calces,” Another voice, this one quite young, but icy and higher pitched. “Allow us to find her. She'll be dead within a fortnight.”

A prism jutted into Vegeta's left arm, pinning it against his body, trapping his hand at Bulma's thigh and his body against the opposite edge of bones. Just as it settled, another crystal, no more than the width of his fist began stretching across the limited space the two fugitives shared, aiming directly for Bulma's neck. The pressure of the prisms into his own body allowed no further movement. At best, there was only one action he could take to ensure her silence.

Vegeta gripped his fingers into Bulma's hair, pulled her head back, and pressed his lips against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes he did.
> 
> Bulma's Bone Argot is a constructed language made specifically for this story. It should be easy enough to read ... if you're a linguist or familiar with IPA. For the rest of us, here's a tiny rundown. All double syllable words are stressed on the first vowel (This is the purpose of the ' apostrophe.) A sample pronunciation of her first words ('uʄa hɛm. ais 'amra) would sound a bit like "UJ-ah hehm. ice AHM-rah" where the capitalized syllables are stressed. In this case, she is speaking to the bones and it would translate to something like "I perceive this opening. Return [yourselves] together". Finally, in Bone Argot, special attention is given to elongating the consonants, not the vowel, and this is what creates the hissing whisper the bones accept. 
> 
> Inspiration for parts of this chapter and the next hail from the exquisite world of [Dark Souls 3](https://darksouls3.wiki.fextralife.com/Locations), including the Smouldering Lake and the Grand Archives. If you ever have a dying need to lose yourself in lore, this is the game for you.


End file.
